Aw Come On, It’s Gonna Be Great

Michael has a rule about chick flicks. We only see them at the theater on our anniversary. This works out well for us.

I prefer watching chick flicks at home by myself anyway. I want to be able to cry unabashedly if the need should arise in me. Also, if I don’t drag my husband to bad movies, I don’t have to deal with him turning into his alter ego, Michael the Movie Martyr: “Remember when we saw ‘What Women Want’? I sat through that piece of garbage, because I love you. So, the least you can do is _______.”

I didn’t like “What Women Want” either. Nevertheless, I’ll be paying for dragging him along to see it for the rest of our natural lives, which is kinda unfair. Ultimately, I didn’t write or direct the piece of crap movie. Sure I wanted to see it, because, well, Mel Gibson is in it, and I dug “Braveheart.”

“What Women Want” could have been a much better flick if it had included even one disembowelment scene. But, no. It was crap, and now Michael holds it against me.

So, I don’t make him see chick flicks with me, because I get blamed for them when they suck.

I didn’t blame him for “The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen.” Not at all. Well, ok, a little. Alright I did. It looked boring in the previews. Come on! If they can’t make it look interesting in the previews, it’s gotta be bad. But, noooo, he insisted it was gonna be great, because it’s based on a comic book. Oh, well excuuuse me, I thought that Superman movie with Richard Pryor in it was based on a comic book too…

You can come watch chick flicks with me any time. You’ll have to ignore my husband though, in the back corner of the room, his head implanted in the computer monitor and an occasional snort thrown in the direction of the television when sn especially emotional moment comes along.